


Homeward Bound

by Whoharps



Series: Giant!Castiel 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I mean REALLY tall), (like a literal size difference), (not a sexy thing), (not that bad tho), (sorry! its not graphic tho), (à la Pulp Fiction), Actual Worried Husband Dean Winchester, Angel True Forms, Animal Death, Castiel Talks to a Cow, Castiel Whump, Castiel's Grace, Castiel's True Form, Dean Cleans the Bunker, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dean is the Most Illogical Person on the Face of the Planet, Dean to the Rescue, Enochian, Grumpy Castiel, Hungry Castiel, Hunting for food, Inspired by Fanart, Non-Linear Narrative, Sam Is So Done, Size Difference, Spells & Enchantments, Survival, Tall Castiel, Time Skips, Wilderness Survival, giant castiel, trueform!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoharps/pseuds/Whoharps
Summary: Castiel finds himself dramatically increased in size, and stranded in Canada. Cue worried Winchesters, and wilderness survival.





	Homeward Bound

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  So, this work is inspired by [this gif](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/160315564019/tried-making-a-gif-today-hope-you-like-it-click), the first in a series of GIFs created by [thefriendlypigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/), and written with permission from the artist!
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, [crowley4queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowley4queen/pseuds/Crowley4queen)!

  ** _~ 2 days, 4 hours, 37 minutes from now ~_**

**DEAN**

.oO - Day 6, 1:16 pm - Oo.

Castiel hadn't contacted the Winchesters in almost a week, and, frankly, Dean was worried. He knew that Cas could sometimes take off for weeks, even months, at a time without so much as a word to them, but something didn't quite feel right. He took a swig from his beer and stared futilely at his phone. He sighed and leaned back against the counter glumly. He had just finished cleaning the Bunker's kitchen, and it was spotless. Channeling his worry and nervous energy, he had tidied, scrubbed, buffed, and all around scoured every surface in the damn Bunker—twice! Still no word from Cas.

Dean glared at his phone, willing it to ring with the sheer power of his mind. No dice. He flopped his head back against the cupboards with a _thunk,_ and groaned in frustration.

_Dammit, Cas! Where the_ hell _are you!?_

...oOo.oOo.oOo...

**_~ 7 days, 16 hours, 11 minutes from now ~_ **

**CASTIEL**

.oO - Day 1, 11:42 am - Oo.

Castiel felt... odd.

He was lying face-down on something soft. He didn't feel any pain, but something felt different. Was it the air? No. That couldn't be it. It felt internal. He tried to stretch out his Grace to get a sense of his surroundings, only to have it rebound on some sort of warding in the skin of his vessel. That hurt.

Castiel would have to look around the human way then. He cracked an eye open slightly, before snapping them both open in shock.

There was a cow in his face.

That wasn't odd in itself—it was the _size_. The cow was _tiny._ Castiel could've easily picked it up with two fingers. He stared at the creature curiously.

"Why are you small?" he asked it in confusion.

The cow didn't answer.

Castiel blinked at it before shifting his gaze to the rest of his surroundings, hoping for an explanation.

_Oh._

_Well, that's... different._

It wasn't the cow that was small, it was his vessel that was big.

The shrubs that dotted the field he lay in were not much taller than his ankles, and the dilapidated tractor that was sitting next to his hand would sit easily into his palm.

What the hell had happened, and where the _fuck_ was he? The last thing he could remember was leaving the Bunker. He didn't even know how long ago that was.

Castiel shifted himself onto his elbows, careful not to squash the cow accidentally, and gazed around himself. No landmarks. He'd have to walk.

Castiel got to his feet gingerly, but he still managed to crush a couple of bushes on his way up. With his newfound height, he gazed around, hoping to spot signs of civilization. He needed to find a way back to the Winchesters, they could help with his size issues. He wished his Grace was functional, that way he might've been able to figure out what the _hell_ was wrong with him and figure out what stupid son of a bitch had done this to him.

Huh. Dean really was rubbing off on him.

Seeing nothing but grassy hills and livestock, Castiel shrugged, chose a direction at random, and began to walk, trench coat flapping in the wind. He'd find a road eventually.

 

It took him an hour to find any sort of infrastructure. His new size had slowed him down, and he felt like he was moving through maple syrup. After trudging through seemingly _endless_ grassy fields, Castiel finally encountered a highway. He gazed up and down the long stretch of road, hoping for some indication of where he was. There! He spotted a road sign a little ways down the road, and he began to make his way towards it.

Upon reaching the sign, he crouched down to read it. He ended up having to get all the way down on his stomach in the middle of the road to be able to read the tiny sign.

                 _Vancouver  |  236 km_

Canada. Of course. Had to be Canada.

Castiel sighed in frustration. Almost 2,000 miles away from the Bunker. Great.

He _needed_ a phone.

How he was going to get a phone, he had no idea. It seemed that the best course of action would be to make his way towards Vancouver—hopefully without scaring too many humans. They couldn't exactly hurt him in this state, but he'd rather not risk it. Hopefully he would be able to find some way of contacting the Winchesters by then.

Castiel clambered to his feet, and began striding off in the direction of civilization.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Castiel trudged across the land. The thuds of his footfalls shaking the trees, even as he tried to step softly. He sighed tiredly. He shouldn't get tired, but maintaining such a large vessel was putting a strain on his Grace. He guessed that it must've been a spell of some sort—likely one that was meant to manifest his true form. That was the only thing he could think of that would increase his size so dramatically. If that was the case, it had failed miserably. He was only a fraction of his true size, and he definitely had not manifested in his true form—he _probably_ would have noticed that. Thanks to the spell, he was stuck in an oversized vessel for who knows how long. It was incredibly aggravating.

Castiel had been walking for hours now, and he was still several days away from Vancouver. At least there had been a change of scenery. The rolling plains had transitioned smoothly to forests of trees. He was tall enough now that his head and the tops of his shoulders poked up from the greenery. It was like walking through tall grass.

Castiel grumbled as he brushed aside a taller than average tree that was tickling at his chin. At that moment, his vessel's stomach gave an unexpected twinge. He stopped short and placed his hand on his abdomen. What the hell had that been? He felt... hollow. Strange. He assumed it was an aftereffect of the spell—there was so much strain on his Grace that he wasn't surprised. He continued on his way, slightly troubled by the new symptom. He hoped that it wasn't going to get worse.

A few minutes later, a loud gurgling reached Castiel's ears, and he realized it was coming from his vessel again, and—wait. He was _hungry._ Right, of course. He'd forgotten what that felt like. Now he understood the unnatural fatigue that had overtaken him. He needed energy to sustain his Grace, therefore he was hungry.

Now Castiel had a whole different problem. He had approximated himself to be over 150 feet tall, which made for a proportionally large stomach. Where could he find that much food in the wilderness? He didn't particularly want to _hunt,_ but it looked like he would have to. He couldn't exactly go dumpster diving in this form. He pushed the thought away, scowling. He didn't like to think back on his time as a human. It had been cold, wet, and unpleasant—and Dean had rejected him. He understood _why,_ and had forgiven his friend, but it didn't make the memories hurt any less. At least he didn't feel cold as an angel—even weakened such as he was.

Castiel sighed dejectedly. He wished Dean were there now, despite all his flaws. He would have just the right thing to say to cheer him up—and he would be able to help with his aggravating size issue. His stomach grumbled again, and he glared down at it reproachfully.

"You're no help."

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

After weighing his options, Castiel resorted to finding a sufficiently large animal to sate his hunger. He truly hated this, but he had no choice.

Castiel managed to track two deer to a clearing in the forest. He murmured an Enochian blessing over them, before smiting them with a touch of his finger, Grace twinging a bit at the strain. He gazed down at them regretfully before gently scooping them into the palm of his immense hand and setting them to one side. He had done enough killing. He had slaughtered innocents—his own kind. He sighed, ashamed of what he had become.

"I am truly sorry, my friends. I wish I had other options."

Castiel uprooted a few dry bushes and set them up in a pile in the center of the clearing, and sparked them ablaze with a touch of his Grace. He warmed his hands for a moment, realizing just then that they were cold. So much for his Grace's protection. He needed to skin and cook the deer, and to do that he needed something sharp. He decided to try and manifest his angel blade, praying that the damper on his Grace would allow it. He grinned in satisfaction as the cool metal slipped into his hand.

Knowing it would be a messy business, Castiel shed his coats and tie, leaving him in his dress shirt. He rolled up the sleeves at set to work with a grimace.

Finished with skinning, Castiel speared one deer on a large branch he had found, and set about cooking it. Before long, the smell of cooking meat filled his nostrils and his stomach gurgled once again.

"Patience," he admonished it. He hated not having control of his vessel.

When the deer was cooked Castiel devoured it hungrily while cooking the second, which he ate with just as much fervour.

Hunger dulled for the moment, Castiel curled up next to the fire, using his suit jacket as a pillow, and his coat as a makeshift blanket. A chill had set in, and he shivered a bit, putting another bush on the fire. His eyes gradually fluttered closed as sleep claimed him.

...oOo.oOo.oOo...

**_~ 1 day, 10 hours, 5 minutes from now ~_ **

**DEAN**

.oO - Day 7, 5:48 pm - Oo.

Dean was cleaning. Again.

He was scrubbing the barely visible mold out of the corners of the shower room. He growled in frustration at a particularly stubborn stain and threw the sponge spitefully across the room where it landed with a _splat_ at Sam's feet. He didn't want to have this conversation _again._ Sam had been nagging him all day about his 'obsessive behaviors,' and 'unhealthy coping mechanisms,' whatever that meant.

"Dean..."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, you need to listen to this. I think it has something to do with Cas."

_That_ got Dean's attention. He motioned for Sam to continue.

"Get this, a woman in British Columbia claimed to have seen a _giant man._ She said he was, quote, 'wearing a huge tan trench coat and had a blue tie.'"

"Okay, sounds like Cas, but, Sam, _what the hell?_ " Dean groused, his frustration bubbling forth. Sam put up a hand to placate him before continuing.

"There's more. Apparently he stopped her car with his _foot,_ and asked to use her phone. She, of course, totally flipped out and was in hysterics by the time the police arrived. They couldn’t get much more out of her. It sounds to me like Cas—if it is Cas—is trying to get in touch with us."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, getting to his feet. He paused. "How'd he manage to end up in fuckin' _Canada?_ "

"I think the real question is 'How is he huge?'" Sam commented as the brothers made their way down the hall. Dean nodded in agreement, worried for his friend. Cas could take care of himself, but Dean wanted to get to him as soon as possible.

"Get your shit, Sam, we leave in ten."

Dean's thoughts were running wild. He tried to convince himself that Cas would be fine, he could take care of himself. He was an angel for Christ's sake! For some reason this did nothing to alleviate the knot that had formed in his gut.

_Get it together, Dean!_

Cas was _relatively_ okay—at least he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere, that was a relief, but _Canada?_ It would take them over thirty hours to get there—probably close to forty hours because of customs. He growled in frustration, wishing, for once, that he wasn't afraid of flying. He grabbed his mostly packed duffel and threw a few things in before heading to the armoury to grab extra weapons.

The brothers were speeding off towards British Columbia minutes later, driving as fast as they could get away with without getting arrested.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

**_~ 16 hours, 24 minutes from now ~_ **

.oO - Day 8, 7:29 am - Oo.

They arrived in Vancouver exactly forty-one hours and twenty-one minutes later—not that Dean was counting, you understand. Customs, as predicted, had been hell—especially because of the various illegal firearms that were stashed in the trunk of the Impala. Dean had been on edge the entire time. They couldn't afford to get arrested, not now. The fact that it was close to the holidays made the wait even longer. He had a crick in his back from sitting in that godforsaken plastic chair for so damn long. Thankfully the customs officer that they got saddled with swallowed their story about visiting their sick aunt and didn't check in their trunk. Dean was relived when they finally were allowed to cross the border.

After checking into a motel, the brothers went to the nearby diner to get some much-needed sustenance. They waited for their food in a grim silence that was only broken by the clacks of Sam's keyboard and soft tapping of Dean's tablet as they scoured the local news for any signs of Cas. Dean was on his third— _fourth?_ —cup of coffee.

"I got something," Sam said, abruptly. Dean's attention was on him in an instant. "Last night a camper claimed to have heard loud footsteps, a tree snapping, and a voice saying 'ouch,' after which he swears that he saw a tree being pushed aside by a giant hand."

"Sounds about right. Where was this exactly?"

"About 20 miles into the woods outside of town."

"Let's go check it out." With that, Dean threw some cash down on the table for the coffee, and began to head out the door. Sam grabbed his arm.

"Dean, wait."

"Fuck off, Sam, we gotta go!"

"Dean, you need to eat, and you've hardly slept. Seriously. C'mon, lets get our food, and then go crash at the motel for a few hours," Sam pleaded. Dean glared at him and tried to pull away. "Dude, we aren't gonna do Cas any good if we're dead on our feet."

"Sam! We don't have time for this," Dean argued, glaring at his brother. "Cas needs us!"

"I know, Dean. I know. But seriously, man, you're gonna keel over if you keep going at it like this."

They stared each other down, neither giving an inch—that is, not until Dean's stomach gave a tremendous gurgle. Sam raised his eyebrows and glanced down at Dean's stomach pointedly. Dean gave his best 'death-glare-slash-Sam-worthy-bitchface' before surrendering.

"Fine," Dean grumbled, shrugging free of Sam's hand and sliding back into the booth.

...oOo.oOo.oOo...

**_~ 2 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes from now ~_ **

**CASTIEL**

.oO - Day 6, 1:16 pm - Oo.

The past four days had passed in much the same manner as the first, except Castiel grew more and more tired after each night. It was the fifth full day he had spend in the wilderness, and he finally understood the meaning of the phrase 'bone-tired.' That's how he felt. He _was_ thankful that he didn't have to urinate. That was one thing he did _not_ miss about being human (come to think of it, there weren't really a lot of things that he did miss about it). His Grace was working overtime trying to sustain itself, converting food directly into energy rather than digesting it. It had also begun to gradually tap into his vessel's fat reserves, and he could now feel his ribs. He was rapidly fading. He wouldn't lose his Grace permanently, he was fairly certain of that, but he _was_ running extremely low on sources of energy. If he didn't find a significant source of food soon, his body would cease to function and he'd fall into a type of coma. Since he was apparently bound within his vessel, this was a problem. If he had had the ability, he would've found an alternate vessel. Unfortunately, that was not an option.

_Hopefully Sam and Dean know where to get extreme amounts of sustenance..._

Castiel was finally nearing the end of his journey. A road sign that he had checked an hour before had told him that there were only 70 kilometers left to go. If he kept his pace, he would reach the city in two days.

As Castiel walked, he thought about Dean. Was the hunter worried about him? Was he looking? He let his gaze wander to a flock of birds wheeling through th—

                 _Dammit, Cas! Where the_ hell _are you!_

The voice tore through Castiel's thoughts and sent him reeling.

_Dean..._

It was as though his prayers had been answered—ironically with an actual prayer. He threw his head back in ecstasy as the sound washed over him.

__ he whispered to the heavens as a warm flush of hope thrummed through him.

With renewed strength, Castiel strode forth, determined to find a way to contact Dean.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Hours later the sun was low on the horizon, and Castiel was weak from exhaustion and hunger. He couldn't keep up with the energy demands of sustaining his vessel, and he was loathe to slaughter more animals than necessary.

Castiel made his way slowly through the Canadian wilderness. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were encrusted with dirt—the nail beds were almost black with it. The rest of him probably wasn't faring much better. Nothing could be done about that, he had more pressing problems—like food. In the distance he heard the engine of a car, it was coming towards him. Maybe the driver could call Sam and Dean. He was too hazy with fatigue to see the glaring flaw in his plan.

Castiel lumbered towards the road as he heard the car approaching. After a few moments he saw it growling down the road. When it grew near enough, he put his foot across the road to block its path. The car skidded to a halt with a squeal of breaks. When it came to a stop, Castiel could hear high-pitched sounds coming from within the vehicle.

"My apologies for the interruption, but could you call someone for me?"

The squealing noises continued. Castiel squinted in confusion. What was wrong with the driver? He couldn't wrap his hunger-addled brain around the tiny human's behavior.

"Are you alright?"

No response. Castiel grew more concerned, and crouched down beside the car. He rested his hand upon the hood gently, realizing too late that he had misjudged his own strength. The metal caved beneath his had, and the windshield developed a spider web of cracks.

_Oops..._

The noises had continued, and suddenly the car door was opening and a hysterical woman was scrambling out.

"Are you hurt? I didn't mean to frighten you. My apologies for the damages to your vehicle."

"P-please d-d-don't hurt me!" she exclaimed, sobbing. Castiel frowned in bewilderment.

"Why would I hurt you? I just need you to call someone for me." The woman cowered and screamed at his words, and Castiel started down at the human, baffled. The intricacies of humans often escaped him. He squinted through the fog that filled his brain, trying to make sense of the situation. Obviously this was going nowhere. It was clear, even to him, that the human was not in any state to make any calls, and it wasn't like he would be able to do it himself—his fingers were far too big.

Castiel sighed and dragged himself to his feet, exciting another screaming fit from the human as she cowered in the road. He stared down at her for a moment, utterly befuddled, before continuing on his journey.

" _Humans are very strange..._ " he scoffed fondly to himself, shaking his head dazedly.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

**_~ now ~_ **

**CASTIEL**

.oO - Day 9, 3:53 am - Oo.

_Tree, foot, dirt, foot, tree—breathe—tree, bird, hand, tree, dirt, foot—stumble—foot, tree, tree, tree..._

_One foot in front of the other. Breathe. Left, right, left—breathe—right, tree, bush, dirt, tree—_

**_Vancouver | 1 km_ **

_Nearly there. Left, right—just keep going—left, right, left, ri—stumble. Ouch._

_Falling..._

_Dirt..._

_Black..._

**_Nothing._ **

...oOo.oOo.oOo...

**_~ 1 hour, 12 minutes from now ~_ **

**DEAN**

.oO - Day 9, 2:41 am - Oo.

The Winchesters struggled their way through the forest. They had only their flashlights to see by. Dean cursed as yet another branch caught his arm. He swiped at it angrily. They had been searching the woods for nearly five hours now, and there was _still_ no sign of Cas. He growled in frustration. How fucking hard could it be to find big-ass angel?

_Fuckin' impossible apparently._

Dean slowed to a stop, casting around with a flashlight. No signs of life.

"Dean, there's no way we can find him tonight," Sam said, giving his best vocal puppy-dog eyes. "It's too dark to see anything—even a giant angel. As much as I hate to say it, we gotta start again once it's light."

"Sam..."

"Dean, seriously. It's nearly three in the morning, and we've been out here for fucking hours. It'll be easier to spot him when it's light out," Sam begged, ever the voice of reason. Dean grumbled a bit before acquiescing.

"Fine. Okay," he grunted, and Sam gave a sigh in relief.

They pushed their way back through the undergrowth in the direction of the Impala.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

It too them just over an hour to reach the Impala. Both men were covered in dirt and sweat, and were ready for a shower and a warm bed.

Dean groan, stretching out a kink in his back as he made his way to the driver-side door.

_*CRACK*_

An sound boomed through the trees, and the ground shook slightly. It sounded like someone had cut down about five trees and they had all fallen at once.

Dean froze, grabbing his gun. Sam did the same. The two of them began to make their way towards the source of the sound.

They crept through the trees silently, both brothers eying their surroundings, watching for any sign of an enemy. They continued on, eventually coming upon an opening in the trees through which they could see a huge shape blocking out the stars. At first Dean thought it was a hill, but then he saw it rise and fall and he heard the deep sound of breathing.

"Could it be...?" Dean breathed in awe, circling around to get a better look at the creature. He approached one end, and he saw the outline of hair and the curve of an ear. It _had_ to be Cas.

Holstering his gun, he quickly made his way around to the other side of the head to see the face.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed, happily. There was no doubt about it—it was _definitely_ Cas. Filthy and gaunt, yes, but it was undeniably his angel. Dean approached his friend slowly, hardly believing what he was seeing. The angel was _massive._ His head alone was at least three-times the height of Dean. He reached out a hand out and touched Cas's cheek. The skin was warm and soft, just as he thought it would be—not that he thought about those things. Shut up.

Dean was almost knocked on his ass when Cas let out a breath. The warm air cascaded over Dean, and, surprisingly, it didn't smell all that bad. Huh. The angel's Grace must've had something to do with it.

Sam walked up next to Dean and stared up in astonishment.

"Holy Shit."

"That... is putting it mildly," Dean chuckled. He realized his hand was still on Cas's cheek, and he was about to remove it when Cas's eyelids fluttered and he let out a groan.

"Cas! Hey, buddy, you okay?"

"...Dean? Sam?" Cas rumbled, blinking his eyes in the darkness.

"Yeah, buddy, I'm right here," Dean said, caressi—comfortingly stro _—touching_ Cas's skin. "Sam's here too."

"Hey, Cas, how're you holding up?" Sam asked in a soothing voice. Dean's thoughts were racing a mile a minute.

_What happened? Is he okay? Is he hurt?_

Cas only groaned in response. He started to move. First lifting his head, before gradually moving into a sitting position. Sam and Dean scrambled out of the way of the enormous hand that moved in their direction.

"Watch it, Cas!" Dean exclaimed, annoyed.

"My apologies. I'm... having trouble focusing at the moment," Cas said, looking dazed. Dean's thoughts went into overdrive, immediately formulating all possible reasons as to why Cas was disoriented.

"What do you mean? Why are you having trouble focusing?" Dean asked anxiously. Cas looked down at his lap, looking almost... _embarrassed?_ It was hard to tell in the darkness.

"The spell—at least I think it's a spell—puts an immense strain on my Grace," Cas sighed, looking frustrated. "It is not able to give my vessel enough energy. I am... hungry," he finished softly, looking at the ground.

"Oh, Cas..." Dean said, sympathetically. It had been over eight days, of course the angel was starving. It wasn't like there was food readily available in the quantities he likely needed.

"I _did_ kill and eat several deer, " Cas went on, voice trembling, "but they weren't enough, and I didn't like killing them, so I stopped..." he trailed of. Dean thought he could see Cas's cheek glistening in the soft moonlight. The angel was so selfless that he had driven himself to exhaustion because he didn't want to kill more deer. Dean smiled, bitterly. Poor Cas.

_Oh. That crash we heard must've been Cas falling._

"Is that why you were lyin' on the ground? Did you pass out?"

"...Yes."

"Okay," Dean said, processing this information. He took in a deep breath before continuing. "Okay. Sammy? I want you to use your nerd skills to find someplace 'round here that sells food in bulk. Take the Impala," he added, tossing Sam the keys. "I'm gonna keep Cas company, and you're gonna go get him some food." Sam nodded and strode off, leaving Dean alone with the gigantic angel.

"Dean, you didn't—" Cas began before Dean cut him off.

"No. You need food, we're gettin' you food. End of story," Dean said, daring Cas to contradict him. Cas nodded meekly and stared at the ground. Dean smirked at how adorable the angel still was—even thought he was currently bigger than house.

"Sammy's gonna be a while, you should probably try and get comfy."

Cas nodded, and began to shift into a more comfortable position. Dean propped himself against a tree, getting himself situated for the rest of the night. He noticed that Cas still moved gracefully—despite his increased bulk. A few moments later, Cas was settled, curled up on his side facing Dean. He had removed his trench coat and jacket, and was using them as a blanket and pillow. and they sat in silence for a few moments. Dean continued to shift, unable to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. His memory foam mattress had spoiled him.

"Dean," Cas rumbled across the clearing. His voice sent shivers down Dean's spine.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"You are experiencing discomfort, I think I can fix that. May I?"

Dean looked at him suspiciously, wondering what the angel was planning, before nodding. He jumped as Cas's immense hand came towards him. He knew Cas wouldn't hurt him, but the sight of a hand large enough to hold the Impala would startle anyone. Cas rested his hand on the ground before Dean, and looked at him expectantly. Resigned, Dean clambered up onto Cas's hand. The skin was velvety and radiated a soothing warmth. Definitely better than the ground—no matter how weird it was.

_I'm climbing onto the palm of my best friend's hand. Could my life_ get _any weirder?_

Dean lost his balance and fell backward into a sitting position as Cas began to move his hand back. Dean closed his eyes tight, and stayed seated as the hand moved, knowing there was no way he would be able to stay standing. He clenched his hands on his knees, trying to keep his anxiety down.

_It's not a plane, you're fine. It's just Cas. Just Cas._

Eventually the motion stopped and he cracked an eye open cautiously.

Cas had his hand pulled up close to his chest, fingers cupped over his palm forming a sort of roof over Dean. He was touched by how tenderly the angel cradled him—not that he would ever admit that, of course. Cas's hand was, to put it mildly, fucking enormous—the palm was the size of Dean's bedroom!

Dean shrugged to himself, resigning himself to the odd, and strangely comforting, situation and laid himself down in the center of Cas's palm.

"Thanks, Cas."

"Of course, Dean."

...oOo.oOo.oOo...

**CASTIEL**

Castiel sat on the ground cradling the hunter in his palm. Dean had fallen asleep a few minutes before, and he looked utterly peaceful as he reclined in Castiel's hand.

Castiel smiled at the sight, pleased that he could give the hunter such solace. He tucked his hands close to his chest, savoring the moment. The last time he had held Dean like this had been when he rebuilt him after Hell. It felt wonderful to be allowed the honor to protect his hunter like that once again. He lay there, peacefully, holding his best friend close as he too began to drift off.

_Sleep well, Dean..._

...oO         ...oOo...          Oo...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Enochian Translation: _A dooain de en aziazor - The call of my love_  
>  (I used [this](https://www.sinleb.com/enochian/translation_index.php) online translator)
> 
> For anybody wondering, I calculated Cas's height to be 204.5 ft (62.3 m). And for anybody _else_ wondering, I calculated that by comparing his hand size to the Impala and using a hand-height ration I found on the interwebs. I guess algebra _was_ good for something...  
>  Also, he weighs about 152 metric tonnes. He's quite large. I've posted all of the measurements in a seperate work in this 'verse, for those who might wish to peruse it.  
> ~~  
> Comments/Kudos are always appreciated! (Feel free to let me know if there are errors also <3) Thanks for reading!


End file.
